Author: punchwpadmin

Compiled by Sheri Baer & Melissa Typrin

The holiday season is all about giving. Whether it’s giving gifts, money or time, the mindset is thinking about others. But it’s always good to remember that help is needed throughout the year. Here on the Peninsula, there are countless ways to volunteer, whether you’re looking for a one-time event or an ongoing commitment. Even better, with a little effort, you can find a worthy cause that directly taps into your skills and interests. Continuing PUNCH’s own holiday tradition, here’s our annual sampling of fresh ideas to get you inspired. For more opportunities, check out volunteermatch.org

Save Senior Pups

Although puppy love is undeniable, back in 2007, Sherri Franklin set out on a mission to “make senior dogs sexy.” She founded Muttville to save the lives of dogs that were considered “unadoptable” for no other reason than they were older. Since then, Muttville has become a model for animal rescues, with more than 10,000 dogs going to loving homes rather than spending their last days in shelters. Muttville rescues anywhere from 15-25 senior pups each week from across the Bay Area and beyond. In addition to fostering dogs while they wait for adoption, there are numerous ways to contribute—whether it’s creating adoption videos, staffing outreach events or transporting pups. Volunteers are asked to commit to at least three hours a week for a minimum of six months. See muttville.org/volunteer for all the ways you can help.

Shoot Pro Bono

If your favorite place to be is behind a camera lens, ProBonoPhoto offers a way to donate your expertise to support worthy causes. Founded by retired scientist and biotech executive Jack Owicki, the service acts as a clearinghouse—matching up volunteer professional and advanced amateur photographers and videographers with Bay Area nonprofits engaged in community service, social justice or environmental advocacy. After managing volunteer photography for the Bay Area Women’s Marches in 2017, Jack heard photographers saying they’d like to do more. Whether it’s large events, publicity photos, headshots or photo essays—an Earth Day tree planting, 9/11 memorial or a vigil for peace in Ukraine—ProBonoPhoto prioritizes clients who are not well funded enough to pay for professional photography. A fast mid-range zoom lens typically works well, and for indoor events (where flash isn’t allowed), you’ll need a camera with high ISO capability. To see if you’d be a good fit, visit
probonophoto.org

Be a Sport (Coach)

Did playing a sport make a difference in your life? Then volunteering as a coach might be a slam dunk for you. Between local YMCAs, youth organizations and public schools, opportunities abound with training frequently provided. At the Palo Alto Family YMCA, the youth basketball league team coaches are 100% volunteer-driven. If an overhead smash is more your style, the East Palo Alto Tennis & Tutoring Academy (EPATT) needs coaches for the next generation of players. EPATT is a free youth education program that serves K-12 students in under-resourced communities. As a volunteer coach, you’ll teach students the basics of the game, with a focus on fun, teamwork and sportsmanship. In tandem with academic tutoring (another volunteer opportunity), students learn how they can up their games both on the court and in the classroom. For more information, email tennis@epatt.org or visit epatt.org/get-involved

Give Nature a Boost

What we appreciate and love, we protect. That’s the premise of Environmental Volunteers, a local nonprofit dedicated to educating Bay Area kids since 1972. If you’re passionate about science and nature, this is your chance to lead hands-on programs designed to inspire the future stewards of Earth. After starting with a few schools in Palo Alto, the program now reaches 10,000 students in 70+ San Mateo and Santa Clara County schools with its cutting-edge science curriculum. Engage with small groups in a classroom setting—through games, experiments and even animal encounters. There’s also a need for community and outreach volunteers at the EcoCenter in Palo Alto or as a Foothills Park Trail Ambassador. Other opportunities include helping with after-school programs, guided walks and event staffing. No experience is needed and training sessions are provided on a rolling basis.
Visit environmentalvolunteers.org or email volunteer@environmentalvolunteers.org for more information.

Engage your Green Thumb

Willing to get your hands dirty? Then get ready to dig in! Volunteers are needed all over the Peninsula. Take your pick: school, garden, park or historic house? At Hidden Villa in Los Altos Hills, volunteers pitch in to work in the field alongside the farm crew or sign up to join the “Dirty Knees Brigade” at Palo Alto’s Gamble Garden. Also in Palo Alto, the Museum of American Heritage needs garden volunteers to help with watering plants, weeding, transplanting and fertilizing. Through San Mateo County Parks, volunteers and staff work at different locations each week—teaming up to clear trails and restore native habitat, whether it’s invasive plant removal or planting native vegetation. Pick your favorite path, then check websites to explore volunteer opportunities.

Talk Up Your Town

Become a hometown hero by preserving the history of your own community. You’ll find no shortage of ways to get involved. Head over to the Los Altos History Museum, which explores the area’s rich heritage and how the “Valley of Heart’s Delight” evolved into today’s Silicon Valley. Opened in 2001, the museum will be launching a new immersive, multimedia permanent exhibit in 2023 and is looking for docents comfortable with high-tech, interactive elements. Just across the courtyard, ambassadors are also needed to welcome visitors to the landmark J. Gilbert Smith House, which has been refurbished to replicate a 1930s farmhouse. Learn how to get involved at losaltoshistorymuseum.org. Meanwhile, in San Carlos, you can volunteer to become a “Villager” docent at the Museum of San Carlos History. Beyond occasional museum duties, Villagers collect and safeguard San Carlos memorabilia and help out with annual events including Hot Harvest Nights and Home Town Days. Look for more details at sancarloshistorymuseum.org

make time for kitty cats

If you consider yourself a cat person, why not make some meow time? By joining the team of volunteers at Palo Alto Humane Society, you can make a difference to the lives of cats in our community. Two hours a week is all that’s required to bring food to feral cat colonies in parking lots, backyards and bushes. Or, help out with TNR (trap, neuter and return) of homeless and feral cats. Volunteers are needed to drive them to clinics and house them overnight while they recover from surgery. If you can make a short-term commitment (four to eight weeks), consider fostering a litter of homeless kittens or an adult cat until a permanent home can be found. Training, support and supplies are provided—just be ready to play, feed and cuddle. Find out how to get involved at paloaltohumane.org or email pahs@paloaltohumane.org

Provide Compassionate Care

Do you enjoy art, music, poetry or reading aloud? Perhaps you’re a good listener or speak a second language. Those are just a handful of ways you can provide important emotional and social support to hospice patients and their families. It can even be as simple as taking a short walk or running an errand. San Mateo County’s first hospice program, Mission Hospice & Home Care, is an example of a nonprofit organization that welcomes volunteers willing to share their special training and interests or even a friendly pet. Providing end-of-life care in San Mateo and northern Santa Clara counties, Mission Hospice says musicians are especially in demand with patients frequently asking if someone can sing, play an instrument or just listen to music with them. Direct care volunteers make weekly visits to homes, nursing facilities or wherever patients live. Volunteer hours are flexible, depending on the needs of a patient’s family and your own schedule. See how you can help in a meaningful way at missionhospice.org/volunteer

act on your interest

Do you revel in drama (or comedy or musicals)? The Peninsula theater community is always eager for helping hands—whether it’s a youth production or Silicon Valley’s leading professional nonprofit theatre company. In the case of the latter, TheatreWorks presents year-round performances in the Mountain View Center for the Performing Arts and at the Lucie Stern Theatre in Palo Alto. If you have evening and weekend availability, consider helping out as an usher or concession volunteer, which also lets you see the show for free. Hospitality volunteers assist with special events, from opening night parties to annual galas. As a resident volunteer, you can also donate your time to TheatreWorks’ offices on a regular basis. Additional perks for your work: attending final dress rehearsals, special discounts and an invite to the annual “Thank You” party. Register online at theatreworks.org or reach out to volunteers@theatreworks.org

Spread some library love

Do you fondly remember library time as a kid? Here’s your chance to help foster a lifelong love of learning in others. California consistently ranks near the bottom for school library funding nationwide. The mission of Access Books Bay Area is to level the literacy playing field for K-8 students in low-income schools by providing access to high-quality, culturally relevant books and transforming neglected school libraries into inviting and comfortable places to read. Check in regularly for immediate ways to help out such as painting wall murals or processing and delivering books for local school libraries, classrooms and free book boxes. You can also directly contribute by running a book drive to collect books and donations or donate books through the nonprofit’s Amazon wish list. Go to accessbooksbayarea.org or email books@accessbooksbayarea.org to discover all the ways to get involved.

You’re likely wondering how I came to have such a fancy name. My new family thinks it’s because the beautiful spots on my ears look like gems but they don’t really know for sure. What is for certain is that I was well-loved (and well-fed) before Kim and Steve adopted me. Back in 2020, when my original family in Modesto couldn’t keep me any longer, they drove me to the Peninsula Humane Society & SPCA because they knew I could stay as long as it took to find me a new home. And that’s exactly what happened. After I was featured as the “Dog of the Week” in the local paper, Kim and Steve instantly recognized the jewel (or Jewels) that I am and brought me back to Los Altos. Back then, I was considered a nine-year-old “senior” dog—admittedly on the chubby side. I recently turned 12 and I’m in better shape than ever. I’ve trained Kim and Steve to walk to our local pet supply store. Despite the free treats I’m always given, I’ve managed to slim down thanks to our daily outings. Talk (or bark) about a win-win! I also get exercise through backyard squirrel patrol duty. I may waddle when I walk, but I sprint like a puppy when I need to remind those pesky varmints who’s in charge. Still, I’m a lady at heart. Not only do I have gems on my ears, I’m also known for my delightful fragrance. When Kim and Steve smell my herbal scent (and see my green face), they know I’ve been up to my other favorite pastime: rolling around in the rosemary bushes.

Words by Jennifer Jory

In the heart of Portola Valley, well-groomed horses prance around an arena in a postcard-like setting. After instructing six riders with laser focus, Spring Down Equestrian Center (SDEC) owner Carol Goodstein walks her five rescue dogs and then prepares for a full slate of training classes in the afternoon. “I love what I do and it’s my passion,” she beams. “I feel fortunate that I do what I really enjoy.” With a quick stride and the energy of someone half her age, Carol presides over the three-acre ranch that preserves a family-like atmosphere and a slice of equestrian life on the Peninsula.

Married at 19 to her late husband Stan, Carol studied at San Francisco State before switching to an accounting program to help Stan in his new venture, which became the 13-store mattress chain Slumberland. They soon had two children: first Gary, then Lori. Stan, also an animal lover, enthusiastically supported their purchase of Spring Down in 1984, and while he had other interests besides horses, he always gave in to adding more horses and dogs over the years. “When my husband decided to get out of the sleep business, I had six horses,” she recounts. “We bought Spring Down and it all blossomed from there.”

Carol’s rescue poodles crowd Spring Down’s office, which is staffed by young riders who share her passion. “Horses became my second love after dogs,” she relays. At just seven years old, Carol started riding and taking lessons in San Francisco at Stanyon Stables. After a fire destroyed the property in 1944, she moved to St. Francis Stables on Arguello Street. “It was a lot of fun in those days,” she remembers. “I spent a lot of time riding on the beach and in Golden Gate Park.” Carol also enjoyed Lowell High School’s after-school riding program, where she ran the end-of-the-year horse show. Until just recently, she led Spring Down riders on horse excursions from Golden Gate Park to the beach so they could experience the same ride she cherished growing up.

When Carol is not teaching one of her 50 weekly riding lessons, her mission to safeguard horse property on the Peninsula keeps her busy. Her commitment runs so deep that this year she pledged the (mortis causa) donation of Spring Down to the San Mateo Horseman’s Association, an organization founded in 1940 to support the local legacy of horsemanship. “I don’t want horses to disappear from this area,” she stresses. “People are selling their property and moving out of California. I want Spring Down to stay horse property.”

Carol’s generosity and commitment to her goal of maintaining open space and equestrian life on the Peninsula began nearly 20 years ago. In 2000, she sold the front six acres of Spring Down to the town of Portola Valley with the directive that it could never be developed. With her recent pledge, Spring Down will continue serving the community and offering lessons and camps for riders in perpetuity.

“This is what God put me on Earth to do,” Carol believes. “To save kids, horses, dogs and cats too. It is just my thing.” She explains that when young people are going down the wrong path, horses and the discipline of riding can play vital roles in correcting their direction. “When a horse needs you,” she says, “you respond to it and the horse responds as well.” Carol underscores a horse’s keen ability to read human emotions and sense a nervous rider. She teaches students to breathe deeply and relax and says that when this happens, it transforms the rider and their relationship with the horse.

In 1982, Carol jumped into professional riding and showing at events at the Woodside Mounted Patrol grounds and in Gilroy and Carmel Valley shows. ”I wanted to have fun,” recalls Carol. “I didn’t like the competition or the attitude. Everyone hated or loved their horse by the end of the show and I didn’t like that.” Her experience translated into a philosophy that teaches riders to view horses as companions rather than competitors.

“Anyone can come here and learn to ride,” she says. “You tell us what you want to learn and we will teach you.”

An animal lover at heart, Carol emphasizes education and teaches riders how to bond with horses, to spot what triggers a horse and how to get a horse back on the thinking side of its brain. “Most of my horses have been my pets,” she shares. ”I have a little different attitude here and everyone has fun. The people who ride here just want to be around horses. They want the connection and we provide it.”

Reflecting on life at Spring Down, Carol summarizes, “This is home to a lot of people. The minute they drive in, they’re family. My property manager Manuel came with Spring Down and our head groom Francisco has been here longer than me.” Carol confirms that the legacy she hopes to leave is for the Equestrian Center to continue its hundreds of weekly lessons and camps for generations to come. She credits Spring Down for countless personal lessons in patience and humility and laughs, “Just about the time you think you know it all, the horses teach me there’s more to learn.”

Get Ready to Ride – springdown.com

Words by Sheri Baer

“It’s lit!” That’s what they first said about Pigeon Point Lighthouse on November 15, 1872—and it’s still true in 2022 as this iconic Peninsula landmark celebrates its 150th anniversary. Standing at a majestic 115 feet, the light station is the tallest tower (tied with Point Arena) on the West Coast. Originally called Whale Point, the headland was renamed Pigeon Point to honor the ship “Carrier Pigeon” that ran aground here in 1853 en route from Boston to San Francisco. Built to guide vessels safely through the foggy, treacherous coastal waters, Pigeon Point Lighthouse originally signaled mariners with a 2,000-pound Fresnel lens that delivered the illumination power of 500,000 candles. Perched on a cliff about five miles south of Pescadero, the white brick structure served its duty—and became a popular tourist attraction. However, over time, the lighthouse fell into disrepair and was closed to the public in 2001. Using an automated LED beacon, Pigeon Point continues to be an active Coast Guard navigation aid, and at Pigeon Point’s Fog Signal Building, visitors can view exhibits and artifacts including the tower’s original Fresnel lens that’s on display. The structures at Pigeon Point’s base also put out the welcome mat after being converted into Hostelling International vacation rentals. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places and designated as a California Historical Landmark, the famous tower is finally getting a new lease on “light.” In 2021, the California State Legislature approved full funding to complete an $18.9 million restoration project.

Words by Johanna Harlow

For holiday hunters seeking the glow of the season, the hundreds of thousands of LEDs of an amped-up Christmas light neighborhood summon like a homing beacon. Among the Peninsula’s most brilliant displays is Dewey Street, an unassuming Redwood City block that transforms with fairy godmother-like magic into twinkling Candy Cane Lane every December.

It started in the early 1950s with a handful of decked-out households. Today, the entire street dazzles with a congregation of snowmen, santas, reindeer and other colorful Christmas characters rallying en masse across lawns and rooftops. “We’re crazier than most people with Christmas decorations,” concedes resident Derek Wolfgram. “But I still feel like we’re several levels below people who do the Great Christmas Light Fight TV show. Those are the people who basically spend year-round preparing their houses for Christmas!”

Regardless, Candy Cane Lane doesn’t skimp on revelry. Derek and his neighbors hold their own against spirited contenders like Christmas Tree Lane on Palo Alto’s Fulton Street and Eucalyptus Street in San Carlos.

“I always really liked decorating for the holidays at our previous house, but realized that I needed to step up my game a little bit here,” states the Redwood City Public Library Director by day, Christmas light wizard by night. Derek moved to Candy Cane Lane/Dewey Street with his wife back in 2016. “It was actually in the real estate disclosures because of the traffic impact,” chuckles Derek. “For me, it was a selling point.”

Photos: Gino de Grandis, Derek Wolfgram, Bob Harrington and Philip Liu

Leading up to Derek’s first Christmas on the block, one of his new neighbors invited him over to create the sweet signature decoration that marks every Dewey Street home. “They had all of the supplies so I could build my own stovepipe candy cane,” he recalls. “I used duct tape to put the red stripe on mine.”

Another unifying thread throughout the neighborhood are the banners over garage doors, wishing visitors a Merry Christmas in different languages. “We have Finnish because my wife’s grandmother was Finnish,” Derek notes.

These harmonizing elements are part of the charm of Christmas light neighborhoods. Over at Palo Alto’s Christmas Tree Lane, everyone agrees to post six-foot noble firs in their front yards, transforming Fulton Street into a magical forest. The City assists with changing the bulbs of the street lights to red. According to resident Bob Harrington, “One tradition is that when a house is sold, those decorations are passed from the selling homeowner to the new buyer.”

Creating a Scene

Back in Redwood City, Derek shares a behind-the-scenes perspective on his elaborate setup process. “It’s a lot of work and it’s a lot of fun,” he says, remarking that while his wife offers support, “It’s sort of my baby.” String lights are wound around windows, woven across the roof and framed around the home’s borders. Cutouts and blowups are staged. Candy cane stakes planted. “I’ve got dozens of things to plug in,” Derek remarks.

“Mapping out the network of extension cords that run all around the yard to get everything connected is always challenging. And then every time I add something, that puts a new twist on it.” Derek estimates it takes about 30 hours to set everything up.

A six-foot blowup of Snoopy holds a special place in Derek’s heart. “It’s the Christmas decoration I’ve had the longest,” he explains. “I think it’s the only thing that carried over from our previous house.” These days, Snoopy has plenty of friends to keep him company. Nearby, Schroeder pounds on his piano while Lucy leans against the lid. “There’s about eight of them that I’ve seen online,” Derek says of the Peanuts characters. “They kind of went deep—there’s even Marcie and Peppermint Patty–but they are a little pricey, so I add them slowly.”

But Derek didn’t stop with the Charles Schulz universe. “I have a pretty comprehensive collection of all of the characters from the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer special,” he continues. “There’s a company that keeps making more and more obscure misfit toys every year. Last year, I added the cowboy riding an ostrich. I’ve also got King Moonracer, who is a lion, the Charlie-in-the-Box and the train with square wheels.” For the younger kids, he’s included Buddy the Elf.

Always evolving his artform, Derek says his holiday setup is far from finished. “There’s several websites that I look over every year to see if they’ve added anything new,” he grins. Just consider his spinning candy cane windmill. It’s from a site called Christmas Done Bright, although Derek calls the piece “modest” compared to some of the other animated light displays the company sells. “It’s for people who really want to take it over the top and have decorations that cost thousands of dollars,” he explains. “If you’ve ever driven through Vasona Lake Park in Los Gatos at Christmas time, it’s those commercial-style, giant lighted things. You can buy them yourself!”

Over in Bob’s neck of the woods, standout Palo Alto homes include a star atop a lofty redwood tree, a book-themed yard with a sleigh photo op (created by the founder of Bring Me a Book Foundation) and elaborate cutouts ranging from snowboarders on the slopes to Santa and his reindeer having a pool party. Christmas Tree Lane also features a yard with dancing children from around the world, channeling “It’s a Small World” spirit. Bob notes that this is fitting, considering the crowd the event draws. “I think I heard at least four or five different languages as I was just walking along,” he says of the previous year.

Naughty and Nice

Let it be known that Christmas decorations aren’t all fun and games. Challenges arise and even a gusty storm can wreak havoc. Derek recalls the year his Candy Land-themed neighbors got hit: “They have a lot of big inflatable candies that sit in the front yard. There was one year we had really severe wind and their candies were distributed all across the neighborhood.”

Then, of course, there’s the electricity bill. Though LEDs have thankfully lowered costs, blowups aren’t so cheap. “I would say that our electrical bill probably quadruples for the month,” Derek confesses, unabashed.
But the anticipation and excitement of the season is… well, electric. “It’s spreading joy,” Derek remarks. “I love hearing kids laughing and people reminiscing about either the decorations or their experiences in the past. I’ll talk to people who haven’t been to Candy Cane Lane since the ‘80s, and they’re so excited that it’s still here.”

“For me, there’s an element of nostalgia to it for sure,” continues Derek, who grew up with traditional winters in the Midwest. “The juxtaposition of all the brightly colored lights and the snow—there’s something super magical about that. But even in the Bay Area where we don’t typically have that kind of weather, I think it’s unexpected and pretty. People have this very visceral, happy reaction to something that’s pure fun.”

Beyond just pretty lights, performances also make the season bright. For the past 45 years, dancers from Redwood City’s Studio S Broadway twist and twirl along the road (this year, on December 9). A saxophone ensemble from the Peninsula Wind Symphony has also performed in recent years (watch them on December 20 & 22). “They’ve actually played in my driveway,” Derek says of the musicians. “A friend of mine offered, she has this group that she’s part of and she asked, ‘Can we come do a show?’” What’s more, Derek’s librarian friends come for story time, reading crowd-favorites like Merry Christmas, Big Hungry Bear.

At the heart of it though is the fellowship these festivities garner. “We’re doing it in the name of spreading happiness. Everybody gets out and walks up and down the street and gets a chance to catch up,” Derek summarizes. “I’ve never lived on a block that felt as close-knit a community as what we have here.”

On one side sits the Pacific Ocean. On the other,
San Francisco Bay. Quite simply, that’s what creates the Peninsula. Although we share a common geographic region, our individual communities each have distinct origin stories. We’re talking fascinating tales of threatening land grabs, rowdy saloons, Spanish kings and even Scottish folk songs. If you’ve ever wondered what’s with that next town’s name, we’ve wrangled a two-part (admittedly not-comprehensive and in no particular order) account that may both enlighten and surprise you. Come back next month for more!

Burlingame

1. Credit the Gold Rush in a roundabout way for the naming of Burlingame. It all started when businessman William Davis Merry (W.D.M.) Howard made a fortune, no, not by finding gold, but in the more practical way of selling prospectors all the provisions they needed to go out and not find gold.

2. Living in San Francisco, Howard bought the 6,500-acre Rancho San Mateo in 1850 for $25,000 (That’s $3.88 an acre!) with a plan to retire with his family to the country. Lamentably, he was struck by poor health within a few years.

3. After Howard died at the age of 36, the land was eventually sold off to prominent banker William Ralston, and although the details are a little fuzzy, to the diplomat Anson Burlingame, who created his own Peninsula estate. In addition to becoming the town’s namesake, Burlingame, who was appointed by President Lincoln as U.S. Minister to China, is also known for 1868’s “Burlingame Treaty” with China.

4. Following the 1906 earthquake, a number of San Francisco residents looked south for a fresh start and snapped up “for sale” lots in Burlingame, which was officially incorporated in 1908.

Menlo Park

1. Although the East Coast typically touts “first” bragging rights, in the case of Menlo Park, the West is the clear O.G. Contrary to conventional assumptions, our Menlo Park was not named after Menlo Park, New Jersey, famous for being the home of Thomas Edison (circa 1876). Indeed, the New Jersey city as well as Menlo, Washington, were named after our Peninsula town, not the other way around.

2. Menlo Park owes its name to two Irishmen who bought a large tract of the former Rancho de las Pulgas in 1854. They erected wooden gates proclaiming their new estate Menlo Park after their ancestral home in Menlough (meaning “middle lake”) in County Galway, Ireland.

3. When the railroad came through in 1863, the unnamed stop needed a name and the Menlo Park gates provided the perfect inspiration. (Of note: Menlo Park’s train station holds the record as the oldest continually operating station in California.)

4. What happened to the original Menlo Park signage? Sadly, it succumbed to a 1922 car accident. The good news? A reproduction of the historic arch was dedicated on St. Patrick’s Day in 2019, to celebrate the city’s Irish roots.

Hillsborough

1. Cue W.D.M. Howard again. The city of Hillsborough can boast an even more direct connection to the aforementioned successful businessman and trader, who originally hailed from Hillsborough, New Hampshire. (Er, sorry, Peninsula…the East Coast takes firsties in this case.)

2. The son of a wealthy shipping magnate, Howard recognized opportunity after sailing on one of his father’s ships to the West Coast. By the late 1840s, he was well established and in prime position to take advantage of the Gold Rush, which helped finance his purchase of the Rancho San Mateo Mexican land grant where Hillsborough is located.

3. As nearby towns of San Mateo and Burlingame expanded over time, there was talk of annexing the area’s grand estates. So, in 1910, the residents of Hillsborough (with its 89 registered voters) filed incorporation papers to make Hillsborough official.

4. Hillsborough’s grand estates, including Uplands, Home Place and La Dolphine, were gradually subdivided into smaller lots. In 1953, Hillsborough changed its minimum lot size to one-half acre, which explains why you’ll find no apartments, condos or businesses within its city limits.

Los Altos

1. “Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie doon…” go the lyrics that could have inspired the moniker of a Peninsula town. Although some farmers and orchardists suggested Gopher Ville, early settlers called the area Banks and Braes after the traditional Scottish song.

2. The days of Banks and Braes were numbered when Paul Shoup, a Southern Pacific Railroad Executive, partnered with friends to form the Altos Land Co. in 1906. The group purchased 140 acres between Palo Alto and Mountain View from Sarah Winchester of the “Winchester Mystery House” (AKA the widow of the inventor of the Winchester rifle).

3. Next step: Create a town to serve the new Southern Pacific Railroad line between Mayfield and Los Gatos. The developers quietly changed the name to the more dignified Los Altos, meaning “the heights,” since the location was the crown point on the rail line.

4. In the face of rumblings about Los Altos possibly being annexed by Palo Alto or Mountain View, the good people of Los Altos officially incorporated in 1952 and became the 11th city within Santa Clara County.

San Mateo

1. In 1776, Spanish explorers arrived in what’s now San Mateo to scout for a good place to start a colony. Among them was Padre Pedro Font, who named the creek that they camped by “San Mateo,” Spanish for “St. Matthew.”

2.The city of San Mateo was originally part of the Rancho de las Pulgas (literally “Ranch of the Fleas”) and the Rancho San Mateo. These large land masses were also home to what became the town of San Carlos.

3. Like many other Peninsula towns, much development came about from wealthy San Francisco folks building summer homes in San Mateo. One of the most famous residents was A.P. Giannini, founder of Bank of Italy (later known as Bank of America), who built his Seven Oaks mansion on El Cerrito Avenue.

4. In 1889, the completion of Crystal Springs Dam (i.e. quality drinking water) triggered even more growth, leading to San Mateo’s official incorporation in 1894.

Atherton

1. Thanks to an early career selling goods in South America, Faxon Dean Atherton was perfectly placed to take advantage of the Gold Rush, where he made a fortune in shipping and trading. Finally making his home in the Golden State in 1858, Atherton became one of the richest Californians, influential in all manner of business and commerce.

2. After selling his lands in Chile, Atherton purchased over 600 San Mateo County acres known as Fair Oaks in 1860 for, hold your hat, $10 per acre.

3. Atherton built his country home, Valparaiso Park, approximately where the Menlo Circus Club is today, and a string of other wealthy San Francisco folks followed him, including the Selbys, the Floods, the Macondrays, and later the Hopkins and Stanford families.

4. When Menlo Park made a move to absorb Fair Oaks lands in 1923, Fair Oaks property owners rallied to maintain their strictly residential culture. They rushed to incorporate independently but hit a snag: There was already a Fair Oaks on the books near Sacramento.

5. Calling an audible, the decision was made to name the town Atherton, in honor of the area’s preeminent first property owner and Atherton was officially incorporated on September 12, 1923.

Palo Alto

1. Palo Alto’s heritage is a bit muddled, with its patchwork of parts coming together to form the current city limits. Understanding Palo Alto’s history also reveals why it’s the only Peninsula city with two downtowns.

2. Dating back to 1855, the township of Mayfield (anchored by today’s California Avenue) was the original hub in the area. But when the great local landholder, Leland Stanford, decided to create a university following the death of his young son in 1884, he demanded that the nearby town prohibit alcohol. When saloon-heavy Mayfield declined to go “dry,” Stanford bought other land to create a new gateway for his nascent university.

3. Named after El Palo Alto, the landmark redwood tree that still stands at the corner of El Camino Real and Alma Street, the new town of Palo Alto (with University Avenue as its central artery) flourished and ultimately annexed Mayfield in 1925.

4. To trace the true historical roots of the city’s name, you have to go back to 1769’s Portolá Expedition. When the early Peninsula explorers camped out under a tall redwood tree, they referred to it as “El Palo Alto,” meaning “the tall stick.” The name clearly stuck, given that it inspired the naming of the area—and ultimately the city. (Not to mention Stanford University’s mascot.)

Half Moon Bay

1. When it comes to the oldest settlement in San Mateo County, Half Moon Bay likely takes the prize. After land grants were given to early Mexican settlers in the 1840s, the area known as San Benito was renamed “Spanishtown” because of the large number of Spanish-speaking inhabitants.

2. In 1874, Spanishtown gave way to Half Moon Bay, to honor the crescent-shaped harbor (near today’s El Granada) just up the coast from town.

3. The identity of Half Moon Bay took a twist during the Prohibition Era, when the area’s hidden coves and heavy fog provided the perfect conditions for local moonshiners and rumrunners from Canada to smuggle illegal liquor ashore.

4. Half Moon Bay was officially incorporated in 1959 and continues to boast more than 50 historical sites and buildings, dating back to the 1800s.

San Carlos

1. Here’s what we know: San Carlos (Spanish for St. Charles) was originally part of the large Rancho de las Pulgas grant made to Don José Darío Argüello in 1795, who used the land to raise cattle and crops. Doing his pops proud, Arguello’s son, Luis Arguello, became the first native-born governor of California.

2. What’s not known for certain is the original inspiration for the name. Here are three possible explanations:
● The Portola Expedition discovered San Francisco Bay on November 4, 1769, the date associated with the Feast of St. Charles (San Carlos).
● Don Gaspar de Portolá claimed this new land for the Spanish king, who happened to be King Carlos III.
● Lt. Juan Manuel de Ayala brought the first sailing ship into San Francisco Bay in 1775. The name of his trusty vessel? The San Carlos, of course.

3. Back in the 1890s, San Carlos had a population of 50. After three attempts to incorporate the city, San Carlos finally achieved its goal in 1925 (with 600 residents) thanks to the efforts of Frederick Drake, known as “The Father of San Carlos.” It was Drake who coined the town’s motto: “The City of Good Living.”

Woodside

1. Searching for San Francisco Bay, the same group of explorers led by Gaspar de Portolá came through Woodside in 1769.

2. In the 1830s, the Woodside area became home to some of the first English-speaking settlers on the Peninsula who ventured here to log the area’s rich redwood growth. Charles Brown built the first sawmill on his Mountain Home Ranch in 1839, and Brown’s adobe house still stands today.

3. During the 1849 Gold Rush, a 20-year-old lad named Mathias Alfred Parkhurst purchased 127 acres of timberland and called it… Woodside. Woodside’s lumber played a vital role in building San Francisco (and rebuilding it after the 1906 earthquake), with timber being floated up to SF from the nearby port now known as Redwood City.

4. As San Mateo County’s population took off in the 1950s, Woodside eyed the area’s rapid growth with concern. In 1956, the town voted to incorporate to preserve the rural, residential nature of the community.

Redwood City

1. What’s the oldest city on the San Francisco Peninsula? If you guessed Redwood City, you’d be right. Founded as a port town during the Gold Rush, Redwood City is the only deepwater port on San Francisco Bay south of San Francisco.

2. Situated along Redwood Creek, a channel off of the Bay, Redwood City was originally part of that same vast Rancho de Las Pulgas land grant given to the Arguello family in 1835.

3. After laying out the town in 1854, attorney Simon M. Mezes took it upon himself to find an inspired name for the new settlement. “I’ve got it!” you can imagine him saying: “Mezesville!” Apparently, not everyone was a fan.

4. When San Mateo County was formed in 1856, Redwood City was selected as the county seat, a designation that endures to this day. In 1867, Redwood City became the first city in San Mateo County to incorporate. Officially ditching Mezesville, the community instead gave props to the lumber business that drove the area’s rapid growth. (Take solace, Simon. Redwood City’s Mezes Park still carries your name.)

Portola Valley

1. Portola Valley’s name comes with a spirited adventurer behind it: Spaniard Gaspar de Portolá, the first European explorer to step foot on the Peninsula way back in 1769.

2. In the 1880s, like many industrialists of his time, Andrew Hallidie (a developer of metal wire rope and the acclaimed inventor of the cable car) built a hillside country home on the Peninsula. Hallidie’s Eagle Horse Farm comprised most of what is now considered Portola Valley.

3. In 1886, the former community of Crystal Springs (which met a watery end when the Crystal Springs dam was built) bestowed the name Portola-Crespi Valley on the area. In another shout-out to the early explorers, Juan Crespí was a Franciscan friar with the Portolá Expedition.

4. It took until 1964 for the town of Portola Valley (sans Crespi) to officially incorporate with Sunset magazine owner Bill Lane as its first mayor.

5. Bonus fact: In a spectacular demonstration of his expertise, Hallidie built a 7,341-foot aerial tramway from his home to the top of Skyline in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Sadly, no rides for current residents—it was dismantled after his death in 1900.

Words by Johanna Harlow

Have you heard tell of the wandering Commodore Watkins House? This Atherton two-story Gothic Revival home with peaked gables and ox-eye windows has reportedly traveled oceans—along with several city blocks. Our story starts with Commodore James Thomas Watkins, captain of the Pacific Mail Steamship Company. After purchasing Atherton acreage, Watkins fittingly hired ship carpenters to construct his Peninsula family home in 1866. But it wasn’t built completely on-site. One popular theory (though not officially confirmed due to the passage of time) states that parts of the home were constructed in Connecticut before being dismantled and shipped around Cape Horn. It came to roost at Fair Oaks, a property known for its majestic trees. The home’s next owner, a shipper by the name of John J. Moore, moved the house five blocks to Isabella Avenue. Several owners followed, along with renovations that maintained many of the home’s original 19th-century features. 1998 brought new owners and a new location: Alejandra Avenue. For that last half-mile journey, the 3,600-square-foot house was cut in two by Kelly Brothers House Movers and ferried down the street. Trucks from PG&E, Cable Co-op and Davey Tree Trimming prepared the route—and even the home’s neighbor, former San Francisco 49er Jerry Rice, saw the house off on its new adventure. Still maintained as a private residence today, the Commodore Watkins House is the oldest surviving home in Atherton. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, it has more than earned a respectful nod from anyone passing by.

Words by Johanna Harlow

We all know Peninsula real estate is among the most expensive in the world. But if you’ve ever wondered what the pinnacle of the high-end market will buy you, consider Green Gables.

Comprised of seven buildings and a sweeping 74 acres, this never-before-listed historic property is now available for sale—and it wouldn’t be a stretch to refer to this Woodside treasure as “priceless.” But what does that translate to in dollars? That figure is apparently $125 million, reduced from a higher price just for you.

The Grounds

It’s hard to grasp the vastness of the estate’s park-like acreage without driving it. To reach the main house, enter the property and wind along its eucalyptus, elm and oak-lined roads—past the tennis court and tea house—past the five-million-gallon spring-fed reservoir, a rowboat on its banks—past the expansive vegetable and herb garden. Only then will you finally arrive at your destination. If you choose to circumnavigate the property’s perimeter by foot, prepare for a two-hour undertaking.

When identifying the main factors behind Green Gables’ lofty price tag, Zach Goldsmith of Hilton & Hyland points to “the sheer size of the land in such a prime location.” If Green Gables sells for its listing price, it will break the record for most expensive home ever sold in California—dethroning another Woodside property purchased by Masayoshi Son, founder of Softbank, for a cool $117.5 million.

There’s no denying the desirability of this tree-shrouded zip code. “Woodside is one of the most affluent communities in the country,” notes Zach, who is co-listing the estate with local Compass realtor duo Brad and Helen Miller. “So you’re already starting off with something that I think gives this value that’s almost unquantifiable.”

Mortimer Fleishhacker, Sr. certainly thought so. Back in 1911, this San Francisco lumber, paper, banking and hydroelectric power mogul and philanthropist bought the property to create the quintessential family summer home. “It’s protected from the fog and the coldness of the Bay,” observes Zach, “and just 20 minutes south of the City.”

And did we mention the view? “It’s not inundated with houses because most of it has been dedicated to open space,” explains realtor Helen Miller. She gestures reverentially at the vast stretch of the Santa Cruz Mountains that play backdrop to Green Gables. “There’s Huddart Park, the next range is called Teague Hill, and then there’s Wunderlich and Windy Hill.”

It doesn’t take any imagination to picture this place as an exceptional event setting, acknowledges Marc Fleishhacker, great-grandson of Mortimer. The Florence-based marketing executive currently shares the estate with the third, fourth, and fifth generations of the Fleishhacker family. “We have hosted events with over a thousand participants, and it simply never feels crowded,” he says. “There are also a myriad of quiet, private places, paths and nooks that also provide an amazing sense of intimacy to such a grand estate.”

Events at Green Gables have spanned state dinners and the United Nations 20th anniversary gala to company picnics, bar mitzvahs and weddings (including Marc’s own). The estate has played host to numerous dignitaries including the Secretary-General of the U.N., European royalty, U.S. senators, governors and business leaders. Legend has it that Emmy-Award-winning actress Michael Learned (of The Waltons) once skinny-dipped in the pool during an American Conservatory Theatre cast party. “Green Gables has seen it all,” Marc quips.

When it comes to water features, the estate touts a tranquil lily pond and not one but three swimming pools (to accommodate your every whim for a swim). “Our big swimming pool was the setting for numerous naval warfare battles with my siblings and cousins,” Marc recalls. “And gathering up the courage to jump off the brick wall was an essential rite of passage.”

Easily, the property’s most remarkable feature is its Roman reflecting pool—a football field-sized stretch of water flanked by a brick balustrade and a 50-plus-foot double staircase on one side, a hulking aqueduct-like series of stone arches evoking Old World grandeur on the other. “You feel like a caesar,” Zach describes of the breathtaking scene.

Julia Fleishhacker, Marc’s wife and design guru, fondly recalls marrying her husband here. “There simply may be no more beautiful place on earth to exchange vows,” she remarks. Marc wholeheartedly agrees. “I have traveled the world and witnessed extraordinary beauty from Tuscany to France to parts of Asia,” he adds, “yet the view of the Roman pool remains one of the world’s finest.”

Elsewhere on the estate, a sprawling vegetable and flower garden flourishes. Irrigated by the property’s own reservoir, it boasts everything from squash, onions and tomatoes to an entire medley of herbs. “With its amazing rose collection, bountiful crops of fresh produce and endless opportunities to create beautiful landscapes, it’s my favorite Green Gables playground,” professes Julia.

Another favorite place of Marc’s is the patio terrace overlooking the lily pond. On quiet mornings, residents and guests often spy deer grazing on the manicured lawn (so perfectly positioned you wonder if they’re on the payroll). “I always loved Sunday brunch with my grandparents on the terrace, looking out at the beautiful lawns, being served by the butler,” Marc reminisces, “and then darting into the kitchen so the cook could sneak me an extra piece of something delicious.”

The Main House

Arriving at Green Gables’ main house, you’re greeted by a discretely elegant two-story English manor-style building. Graced by ivy-draped walls, a gently-gabled roof and steam-bent, wave-course shingles, this turn-of-the-century house has been listed on the National Register of Historic Places since the ‘80s.

Over a century ago, Mortimer Fleishhacker, Sr. hired Greene and Greene—a firm run by renowned Craftsman-era architect partners (and brothers) Charles and Henry—to construct his family’s summer home as well as shape the surrounding landscaping. These architects paid close attention to making one flow seamlessly into the next.

“Although I was not around at the time,” Marc says, “I vividly recall the stories of how the Greene brothers would sit at the top of the hill where the main swimming pool is now located and look out at the site, sketching, planning and imagining how to structure and position the main home.” Green Gables remains their largest project—even the glazed ceramic planter pots and hand-carved furniture found around the property can be credited to the brothers.

At nearly 10,000 square feet, the main house with its nine bedrooms conveys sophistication with a minimalist approach to style. “Many of the rooms lead to outside,” comments Zach, who credits the Greene brothers with having the foresight to integrate the home with its stunning environment.

“One of the memories I cherish most is learning to play mahjong with my grandparents in the card room,” relays Marc, calling out the light-flooded corner room featuring heavy beams and intricately carved wooden accents.
Zach emphasizes the home’s great bones. “On both floors, you’ve got really wide hallways with tall ceilings that act as the main arteries going to the different wings,” he explains.

The (Visionary) Buyer

At the end of the day, the discerning buyer will also play a vital role in determining Green Gables’ inestimable worth. “It takes a great visionary,” notes Zach. He envisions a future owner who appreciates the estate’s storied past as well as the opportunity it presents. “You’ve got this rich history, but you’ve also got the canvas to paint whatever you want,” he summarizes. “You’re preserving a piece of history that can never be duplicated … that juxtaposition of the old with the new is priceless.” Marc echoes the sentiment. “I just can’t think of melding two better, more valuable worlds … I believe that all great estates evolve.”

Perhaps the estate’s next owner will establish a vineyard, golf course or equestrian grounds. “You could have riding rings on the property,” suggests Zach. “You could build some insane all-glass car garage. It lends itself to so many different types of people and personalities.”

“The soil and climate of this area of the Santa Cruz Mountain appellation is ideal for cabernet, and possibly chardonnay and pinot noir,” ventures Marc. Another possibility: a corporation might appreciate the property’s size and proximity to San Francisco and convert Green Gables into a company retreat.

Perhaps Green Gables will attract the next big tech tycoon or titan of industry. “This is a giant think tank,” Zach observes. “It just breeds thought and creativity.” Continuing along this line of thought, he notes, “I envision the next Steve Jobs walking this property shoeless. I envision the next Elon Musk coming in and thinking of the next idea that’s gonna change the world. It feels like this is the environment where that happens.”

Since the summer of 1912, the estate has served as the Fleishhacker family’s private oasis. But Marc acknowledges that it’s time for a change. “The exciting question and mystery,” he muses, “is what wonderful private moments will be created by the next fortunate owner of Green Gables?” Only time—and $125 million—will tell.

In the spirit of my namesake (that would be Guinness beer), cheers to lucky me! Lois and Dimitry are fans of the Irish stout and naturally felt like celebrating after rescuing an adorable pup at an adoption event at the Davis Farmers Market. I’m a terrier mix (with possibly some schnauzer or German shepherd), and my right floppy ear and sweet spirit instantly charmed them. It’s hard to believe that it’s been 13 years since I came home to Atherton, where Lois and Dimitry have lived for 50 years now. “Guinness has reached an old age, as have we,” I’ve heard them say, but if you spot us on our daily walks, you’ll agree that we still have “bounce” in our steps. Sure, I may have a little gray in my whiskers (and eyebrows and chest hair), but that’s what it takes to earn recognition as the most senior dog in the neighborhood. I always perk up when the leash comes out. My favorite destinations are Holbrook Palmer Park, Bedwell Bayfront Park and 43 Almendral Street. “Why 43 Almendral Street?” you ask. That’s the location of Menlo Park District Station 3, where the firefighters reward my visits with tasty treats. When I was younger, I loved to play “Catch me if you can!” Dimitry even had to miss a concert once because I escaped the yard to explore. Maybe I have slowed down a bit, but keeping stride with my family is what makes me happiest.

Words by Sharon McDonnell

Being a professor of French and Italian literature at Stanford University isn’t enough for Robert Pogue Harrison. He also hosts a podcast offering “the narcotic of intelligent conversation” ranked in the top five on literature globally by Apple Podcasts, and doubles as lead guitarist and songwriter in a rock band he formed with three other literary scholars, whose songs are inspired by the likes of Helen of Troy, Edgar Allen Poe’s Annabel Lee and the whale in Moby Dick.

Called the most significant writer in the humanities today by the Southern Humanities Review, Robert has written books about gardens, forests and death, and co-taught a Stanford class on the roots of romantic love—from Plato to medieval Arab love poetry. Born and raised in Izmir, Turkey, and Rome, he’s not dogmatic that his brainy podcast sticks to the classics alone. Past topics include internet addiction, earth-friendly landscape design, bioethics, silence, California writers, particle physics and great narrative endings. He interviews scholars and creatives for his podcast, which always includes songs by his band, Glass Wave, along with classic hits (think: The Doors, Jimi Hendrix and Jethro Tull).

Named a Chevalier of the Order of Arts and Letters by the French consulate (an honor shared with George Clooney, Sean Connery and U2’s Bono), Robert, now 68, joined the Stanford faculty in 1985, and chaired the department of French and Italian literature from 2002-2010. It’s an illustrious career for a man who once weighed two offers after high school: attend college or join a rock band in Italy. An early longform podcaster, he started Entitled Opinions back in 2005 on Stanford radio station KZSU.

 

Thanks to a tech-savvy graduate student, the podcast became available on iTunes just a few months after its launch—and continues to attract a global (and loyal) fanbase. His band, formed in 2010 with fellow Stanford professor Dan Edelstein and his brother, Thomas Harrison, a UCLA professor, released a CD, accompanied by moody videos, that same year. Since life is infinitely more interesting when you don’t limit yourself to one career (when you can have three), PUNCH switched up seats to pose questions back to this polymath podcast host.

Your podcast often starts with a disclaimer, urging that it should be “avoided by anyone who does not have a high tolerance for thinking. If you’re allergic to the exchange of ideas, if you’re deficient in curiosity, please tune out now.” That’s so refreshing in an era when many people feverishly compete to rack up as many followers and “likes” as possible. Why narrow your audience like that?

Some people say, “Stop doing it.” But I’m very moved by emails from listeners all over the world, often in provincial places, who feel cut off from intellectual conversation and starved for it, and I feel a commitment to them. I have the luxury of a job, and don’t need to make a living from Entitled Opinions, so I don’t need to dumb it down. I have no ads or sponsors. We live in a world where everyone’s always trying to sell you something. I’m not.

How do you select your podcast guests?

It’s much more important for them to be effective communicators than big names. Listeners trust me for the content. It’s necessary to make it worthwhile for them to spend an hour of their time.

When it comes to memorable podcast conversations, who makes your list?

The German filmmaker Werner Herzog, National Book Award winner Shirley Hazzard, and Rene Girard, the late Stanford professor. Girard was known for his theory of “mimetic desire,” a term he coined in 1961, after the Greek word for “imitate.” He wrote, “Our desires are not our own but other people’s desires that we imitate.” He was so prescient about social media, which is all about creating envy, always comparing yourself to other people due to constant posts of photos and brags, that my profile of him in The New York Review of Books is entitled, “The Prophet of Envy.” Peter Thiel, the Paypal co-founder and first investor in Facebook, credited Girard’s class for convincing him of the potential of the online world.

One podcast episode is on silence. You say you practice the “persecuted religion of thinking” in the “catacombs” of Stanford’s basement radio station. How do you view the link between silence and thinking?

Put time aside for silence. It’s a precondition for reflective thought and a dialogue with yourself. Free yourself from the tyranny of the world and its online chatter. Read, read, read. It’s irreplaceable. Books are an inexhaustible treasure horde to enlarge our world.

Letter-writing was the theme of another podcast episode, where your guest was an expert on 17th- and 18th-century France. Can you comment on the brevity of texts, tweets and emails today?

Everything gets impoverished and reduced to the lowest common denominator in what passes for communication today. Letters were once profoundly social, read aloud in salons, treasured and kept. Writing letters was an art form, and they required thought to write. People had to pay to receive letters in France. Rousseau put an ad in the newspaper to stop sending him letters since it cost so much money. Voltaire, the most famous man in Europe in the 18th century, wrote over 15,000 letters.

Your book, Gardens: An Essay on the Human Condition, traces their importance in mythology, religion and culture down through the centuries, from the Garden of Eden to Zen rock gardens. How would you summarize the role of gardens?

Gardens are a sanctuary from the frenetic and destructive forces of history, places of care and cultivation that people create to see and hear the oneness of nature. They can go a long way to heal psychic wounds.

Which gardens would you consider your favorites?

On the Stanford campus, the Papua New Guinea sculpture garden, where entire trees were carved by visiting artisans. Internationally, the Villa Cimbrone in Ravello, on Italy’s Amalfi Coast.

What events would you describe as major turning points in your life?

My father died when I was 12, so we moved to Rome, where my Italian mother’s family lived. It left something of a void. When I was 14, I saw Jimi Hendrix in concert. It was hard to be an ordinary bourgeois after that. My brother and I started immersing ourselves in music and poetry and formed a rock band with two other guys. We played gigs in our late teens at clubs and weddings all over Rome. There was a lot of demand since we were an Anglo band.

How did your band Glass Wave get formed?

Dan Edelstein and I decided to bring our musical instruments to class at Stanford, take some well-known songs and change the lyrics to be about Homer, Ovid, etc. Then, we thought it would be fun to compose our own songs. The music or mood came first. Then, we’d think, “What lyrics?” and go into the literary canon to find a match. A mournful melody became Poe’s Annabel Lee.

In “Children of Silicon Valley,” your essay in The New York Review of Books, you inveigh against how people today trade reality for miniature screens. What’s your advice on how to resist the magnetic allure of our electronic devices?

One of the most effective ways is to enter into nature and devise a connection with the natural world in all its full-blown, 3D exuberance. It’s just so comforting. Today the big divide is, do we live in the world or on a 2D screen?

Join the Conversation

entitledopinions.stanford.edu

Words by Kevin Marks

If you’ve ever traveled down the YouTube wormhole, you know the feeling. Suddenly, it’s 2AM and you’re watching obscure SNL sketches from the early ’80s, temporarily forgetting all about the looming 7AM Zoom call. If you happen to be in need of another unexpected and wholly intoxicating internet maelstrom, behold bringatrailer.com—the premier online auction marketplace for auto enthusiasts, collectors, wrenchers, road warriors and gearheads. Here, you can place a bid for a ’79 Volvo 240 wagon for $7K or a rear-engine Ford GT that looks like a spacecraft for $1 million. If unconventional is your style, you can also find go-karts, tractors and race cars—or perhaps a Norton motorcycle that served the British Fire Service in WWII.

Behind it all is Menlo Park car nut Randy Nonnenburg, who co-founded Bring a Trailer (BaT) in 2007 with longtime friend and Stanford classmate Gentry Underwood. The two hit it off in the early 2000s after Gentry enlisted Randy’s help to find a 1963 Corvette for his father. Randy had always found solace searching the internet for cars, so it was a natural ask.

“Some people watch TV or read novels; I like to surf online and look for cars for sale,” he explains. “It’s always been my decompression, my therapy.”
Gentry recognized the uniqueness of Randy’s skills, which at the time felt more like a hobbyist’s bliss than a professional aptitude. So impressed with Randy’s ability to not only find cars but assess the machines and their sellers, Gentry floated the idea that this was a service people would pay for.

Randy thought he was crazy. Although cars were clearly his passion, he envisioned a more conventional path. “I was working for BMW and going to business school,” he recounts, “and doing all these things with a career in the auto industry in mind.”

It took about a year for Gentry to convince Randy he should write about cars and start a blog. In a nod to the familiar callout in classified listings urging buyers to “Bring a Trailer!” to load up their purchase, Randy began highlighting one car a day. What began as a simple site fueled by auto fever and the desire to help friends find quality cars grew into a pulsating online community of nearly a million people. Touted as a market disruptor, BaT became the go-to place to buy and sell classic, collector and enthusiast vehicles. It became so successful, in fact, that the company caught the attention of Hearst Autos, which acquired the site in 2020.

“Hearst helped us fortify our business, and they haven’t really messed with the forward-facing website or the product,” says Randy of the partnership. He’s emphatic that the soul of BaT has remained intact. “It really is a Cinderella story. You hear all the time in Silicon Valley about investors who come in and gut the team and do all these terrible things,” he says, “but our story has been so positive.”

Perhaps one of the biggest charms of BaT is that it remains a uniquely beguiling presence on the internet. Even if you’re not an auto enthusiast, and don’t know the difference between a Targa and a Carrera, or the purpose of a limited-slip rear differential, there’s something soothing and inspiring about seeing these beautiful pieces of machinery so lovingly cared for, photographed, preserved and written about. As we wade through the sameness of Tesla after Tesla in the Bay Area, BaT serves as a reminder that the automobile can be cultural and visceral, not just functional.

Though the Bay Area is more known for software than soft tops, Randy credits his home turf with providing a unique lens through which to view cars and car culture. “My love for cars was really intertwined with my love for the area I grew up in,” he says, noting that the region’s much-touted Mediterranean climate makes it the perfect place to own cars. There’s zero danger of rusting out from moisture and snow, or being baked to a crisp by punishing heat.

After spending his early years in Saratoga, Randy moved up the Peninsula, where “garages and side streets were just filled with interesting cars, all the time,” he observes. “Where I live and where I grew up matters to the story, and that’s really cool.” And although Randy has watched some local roads turn into a maze of FasTrak billboards and creeping infrastructure traffic, he points out that it’s still an epic place to drive.

“Northern California is known for great roads. People come from far and wide to drive sports cars in Northern California because of the hills and windy roads, the coast and Highway 1,” he says. “If you live on a grid in Phoenix, it’s just a very different use case for cars. I kind of lucked out and won the lottery with where I was born.”

When you’re heading westbound on 92 in the weekend standstill, that is certainly something to keep in mind. Take a moment to drink in the hills, the sky and the smell of the sea in the distance, and remember… we get to drive in automobile heaven.

Car Geek-Out

bringatrailer.com

Words by Sloane Citron

We have this down now, going to see a ball game at Oracle Park. We try to go on specific nights at specific times, with no interest whatsoever in the opposing team. In fact, the worse the team the Giants are playing, the better for us: lower ticket prices, easier parking and fewer fans.

We go only a few times each year, not so much because we care about the Giants these days (or their rather annoying manager Gabe Kaplan) but for the experience. It’s not so different from playing golf, where you can spend quality time with someone you care about. I used to take each of the kids, but now with moves from the area, childcare wrangling and various conflicts, my consistent seatmates are my oldest son Josh and his son Evan Joseph. (I have to write the Joseph part since he was named after my mother, Josephine.)

Evan is about to turn four—and so how and when we go to the games is designed with him in mind.

The games start at 6:45PM and we leave Josh’s home in San Mateo at five o’clock sharp. With little traffic and no lines to get into the parking lot, we walk toward the stadium by 5:30. Dressed warmly, Evan loves it when we do “1-2-3 swing,” flinging him up into the air.

The first challenge is climbing the three large flights of stairs right inside the stadium, but we do it slowly and Evan is always proud of his accomplishment. We intentionally arrive a good hour-plus prior to the game’s start since the game is the least important part of this adventure. Though our seats are behind home base, we head off to the right and along the top of the outfield.

Our first stop is the old trolley car in right field. Evan is a train fanatic and though this is not a train, it’s close enough. We jump on board, climbing through it, examining new things each time. We wander over to the area where you can see the marina below and spend a good amount of time admiring the hundreds of vessels tied up and the inevitable three or four boats out on the water.

Our slow walk takes us to the large slide underneath the giant baseball glove in left field. I always encourage Evan to go down the slide, but he, the very cautious one, will have nothing to do with it. After staring down the hole at the top of the slide, with no end in sight, I can hardly blame him.

We then slowly make our way through the corridor behind the seats, smelling the aroma of freshly-made popcorn and hamburgers. To his credit, Evan doesn’t pester us for anything, content to watch all that is around him.

By around 6:30 we are in our seats looking out at the final preparations for the game. They announce the line-ups, discuss the starting pitchers, hold some on-field ceremonies which, unfortunately, no one watches, and then we stand for the national anthem.

Josh, always an early eater, then takes leave of Evan and me and heads out on a food run. Most nights it’s pizza or Mexican food and a $10 Coke. Though we have tried, we cannot find a carton of milk anywhere in the stadium. Evan is a good eater and finally takes enough “big” bites to guarantee him dessert: ice cream. Meanwhile, Evan searches the field for the Giants’ mascot, Lou Seal, but he is nowhere to be found.

The three of us sit there in the cool air of the stadium, feeling connected, embraced, calm. I appreciate the time with my son and my oldest grandchild. I try my best to take a moment to be grateful, and I know how lucky I am.

After the Giants’ first at bat, I head off to find my own dinner (usually with a side of fries to share with Evan and Josh). At some point, I buy cotton candy from one of the vendors to take home to my daughter Tali, who loves the sugary treat. Evan always gets a special bite of this.

After we’ve watched the game for a bit over an hour (usually we make it through the third inning), it’s time to get going, since it’s already past Evan’s bedtime. As we are among the first to leave, they must open a special door for us and remind us that we cannot re-enter. As we make our way to the car, we pass fans just arriving to the game.

It is always a great night when I’m able to share it with those I love in a setting that is at once new and also terribly nostalgic. Once on the highway, we hear the gentle snores of Evan in his car seat as we drive home, and it reminds me of the joy I had taking my own kids to games when they were small. And now it is especially poignant to be able to share this sweetness with the next generation.

Words by Lexi Friesel

Nestled in the middle of a Menlo Park neighborhood sits a grand white building with an unusual and colorful past. Coleman Mansion has served as a home, school, movie set and even… the backdrop for a ghost story. In 1882, the mansion was designed by esteemed architect Augustus Laver for Maria O’Brien Coleman, the sister of successful businessman William S. O’Brien. After two long years of construction, the Italianate structure was complete with 22 rooms, a porch, arches, large windows, Corinthian columns and elaborate molding. Interior details included a grand staircase, marble decor and luxury chandeliers. Coleman intended to present the mansion as a wedding gift to her son, James Valentine Coleman, an accomplished assemblyman, and his wife Carmelita. However, the couple never enjoyed their stately new home, as a loaded revolver (accidentally?) discharged and killed Carmelita in 1885. Some claim that Carmelita’s spirit still haunts the building and sightings have been reported of a silhouette wearing a green, translucent gown in the attic. In 1905, James Coleman sold the mansion and its land, and the property was divided into the Menlo Oaks neighborhood. Aside from the removal of its signorial tower, the mansion remained essentially the same. In 1929, Josephine Duveneck and a small group of parents (including Stanford faculty members) purchased the Coleman Mansion and some of the surrounding land to house the Peninsula School, which was founded in 1925. Serving preschool to 8th grade students, Peninsula School maintains its original mission to this day, offering a progressive educational approach focused on child-centered, experiential learning. Coleman Mansion also carries the unique distinction of being featured in the 1975 fantasy sci-fi movie Escape to Witch Mountain. Some Peninsula School students even appeared as extras in the popular Disney film.

In the spirit of Halloween, I’ve never understood why black cats get such a bad rap. I do know that my Menlo Park family count themselves lucky to have brought a black miniature poodle into their home. Namely, me. Hopper. In 2018, a family friend discovered me at Love & Second Chances Rescue and instantly knew I belonged with Peter and Jaime. Back then, I was known as “Chase” because I kept escaping from my foster homes. Once I settled in, it never occurred to me to run away again, and Peter and Jaime decided to rename me after their favorite artist, Edward Hopper. Here’s the funny coincidence: It didn’t take long for them to realize I have this amazing ability to hop and jump. When they gave me my first dog treat, I began to spin around on my hind legs to show my appreciation. To this day, I have a whole “bone dance” routine I do before I gobble down a yummy snack. With my dark eyes, it’s sometimes hard to tell what I’m thinking. I show my feelings by being extra snuggly, and my family calls me “the light of their lives.”

Calling All Dogs: If you’ve got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH. 

Words by Johanna Harlow

It’s not hard to spot the San Mateo County History Museum. To visit Redwood City’s courthouse turned facility of learning, look for the grandiose building with towering Corinthian pillars and hulking decorative eagles that sit on ledges like stony gargoyles. Waiting in the rotunda is Dana Neitzel, Pacifica resident and curator for the San Mateo County Historical Association (SMCHA). We’ve asked Dana for a private tour to glean insights into her work and the museum’s mission to bring Peninsula history—from the original native people to today’s inhabitants—to life.

“Our job here is to tell local stories. But we’re putting it in a national and worldwide context,” Dana explains as she crosses under the building’s massive, Renaissance revival-style dome, its stained glass twinkling like a colossal kaleidoscope. “History repeats itself. The human factor of how you interact with your world is universal.”

Speaking of “the human factor,” Dana has been a driving force behind the museum since 2009. Among her responsibilities, she develops, designs, curates, fabricates and installs four to six changing exhibits each year as well as renovates the permanent ones. The grand total to date: 61 exhibits. She also assists with SMCHA’s other two historic sites: Pacifica’s Sanchez Adobe and the Woodside Store.

Image courtesy of Jerry Pierce SMCHA Archives

When asked for favorite tidbits of local history, Dana cracks a smile and reveals that the county got its start embroiled in corruption. “One of the early exhibits (and more fun ones) I did was called Broads, Bootleggers and Bookies… We had so many bars in this museum, it was ridiculous!” The temporary exhibit is no longer available, though a permanent version dedicated to both law breakers and law enforcement can be found upstairs. The sheriff’s badges and dueling pistols seem to stare each other down from opposite sides of the room in a symbolic standoff.

As Dana leads the way into an interactive exhibit spotlighting the county’s early residents, an Ohlone chant fills the room. “We want to address the different learning styles,” she shares as she passes a traditional willow and tule hut, along with animal skins and hunting equipment in the Native American corner—then moves along to the rancho section featuring cowhides, saddles and spurs. Fueling the imagination, the walls depict Old West scenes set against the expansive frontier. “Type one is personal,” Dana elaborates. “It needs to speak to you. It needs to speak to me. Type two is the reader. ‘I want content. I’m gonna read every single label.’ So we need to make sure that the text we have is telling stories. Type three is ‘I gotta touch this! I wanna see that! That looks good!’ For those people, we want to have imagery that draws them in and makes them want to read the text. And then type four is the holistic learner. ‘I want the big idea. What is this whole thing trying to say?’”

Dana self-identifies as a big-picture type four. “I am a lifelong learner,” she clarifies. “What really interests me is learning something new.” It’s one of the reasons she first came to the museum. After nearly a decade at Oakland Museum of California—where she tackled everything from cataloging items to conducting visitor studies to organizing and transporting 2,500 Native American baskets to the museum’s new state-of-the-art warehouse—Dana joined the tight-knit team at SMCHA. Though her current job spans the responsibilities of five employees for a single department over at the Oakland Museum, she enjoys the freedom and variety of her work. “I like doing a little of everything. I get bored if I do the same thing every single day,” she confides with a laugh. “And that was what one of my references told my boss here. Every once in a while, she’ll check in and say, ‘Dana, are you bored yet?’ I’m like, ‘Nope!’”

Proving her point, she continues, “My husband teases me because every exhibit I do, I say, “Oh, this is the best exhibit I’ve done!’ He says, ‘Yeah, you said that about the last one. And the one before that. And the one before that.’”

 

Image courtesy of Audrey Luke and SMCHA 

As Dana weaves her way through the many experiences here, it becomes apparent that she (and the other SMCHA curators before her) haven’t taken a one-size-fits-all approach to the exhibits. Each room takes on a flavor that matches its subject matter, expressing a personality uniquely its own. At Mavericks, a surfboard simulator invites riders to hang ten amidst walls crafted like a cresting wave. At Land of Opportunity, colorful hues and an eclectic collection of multicultural clothing and artifacts honor Bay Area immigrants. And at the local and international maritime exhibit, boat models, stormy ship paintings and a pulley demonstration provide focal points.

Perhaps most impressively, there’s the “object theater” at Living the California Dream. As the voices of past promoters from different time periods try to sell you (the perspective home buyer) on the benefits of living in San Mateo County, videos play through the windows of “rooms” in grand estates and suburban 1920s kitchens. Vintage household items (ranging from a dust bag vacuum cleaner to a Laun-Dry-Ette Electric Washing Machine) are illuminated in turn.

With an emphasis on relaying personal accounts, the museum makes oral histories a priority. “So yes, we have cool artifacts,” notes Dana, “but who used those artifacts?” Visitors listen and learn as the voices of San Mateo County immigrants speak about the traditions they brought with them, a child of bootleggers shares memories of the family making grappa during Prohibition and a seasoned Mavericks surfer recounts death-defying tales.

Dana makes a light-hearted confession toward the end of our visit: “I’m not a historian. I just play one at work,” she good-naturedly admits. Really, she’s more of an anthropologist at heart. “I’m into people… So what makes humans tick. And the artifacts they use represent where they are in their lives—what their culture is about. You can learn so much about humans from the objects they use.”

As our tour ends back at the rotunda, it’s evident that Dana and her team’s tireless efforts create a conversation with San Mateo County’s rich history and culture. The voices of the Peninsula—past and present—fill this place. And it’s so much more than the distant murmur of first-hand accounts from the speakers.

Words by Johanna Harlow

Forget what you’ve seen in the movies. Real crime solving is a long slog to The Truth: shuffling through paper trails, sifting through timelines, scrutinizing witness accounts and examining seemingly mundane details. Most of us aren’t cut out for such banality. But detectives and historians are made of tougher stuff.

In 1905, detectives failed to find justice for Jane Stanford, the deceased co-founder and trustee of Stanford University. A century later, a modern-day history professor took it upon himself to uncover the troubling truth behind her demise. The saga began when Richard White, a longtime faculty member at Stanford University, stumbled across the historic cover-up.

After reading neurology professor Dr. Robert W. P. Cutler’s 2003 book proving Jane Stanford had come to an insidious end, Richard was intrigued. At the time of her passing, Mrs. Stanford’s demise was chalked up to natural causes. Which was odd. The evidence clearly pointed to her dying of strychnine poisoning—after surviving another poisoning attempt only a month earlier. And yet people with ties to the wealthy philanthropist, including college administrators, seemed oddly eager to credit her death to heart failure. Something wasn’t adding up.

According to Richard, it was apparent that private detectives hired by the university had discovered the guilty party. “Why was it that they went out of their way to make it seem that they had not discovered the murderer,” Richard wondered, “and indeed told you there had been no murder at all?” Richard’s in-depth research resulted in his own tell-all book. Published in May 2022, Who Killed Jane Stanford? earned praise from The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times.

“Stanford University appears to be a Silicon Valley university, a modern research university—but peel it back a little and the ghosts are still there,” observes Richard. “The murderer who once walked there, traces of them are still all over that campus.”

Before the bestseller, came the class. When Richard first introduced his “Who Killed Jane Stanford?” curriculum, he invited undergraduates to learn about original sources under the guise of a little crime solving. “I thought that the best way to get undergraduates interested in going into the archives would be to give them a murder mystery,” he notes, adding that he hoped the course would fuel equal parts curiosity and skepticism in his students.

Packed with bribes, unreliable witnesses and missing evidence, the case’s obvious intrigue drew the young scholars right in. The New York Post would later make a playful comparison between Richard’s book and the game of Clue, presenting suspects like a lineup with Professor Plum, Miss Scarlet and the rest of the board game regulars. Richard chuckles when asked if he too sees the resemblance. “Yeah, because I have the butler! I have the maid. I have the mansion.” The folks with a bone to pick with Jane Stanford were many: a recently fired manservant, an overtaxed personal assistant, a few aggravated housekeepers, money-driven family members, not to mention a power-hungry university president.

“One of the most haunting images I have of Jane Stanford is her funeral procession, in which many of the people suspected of her murder, many of the people who covered up her murder, were the people who walked immediately behind her casket,” the professor shares.

But whereas his students left the mystery behind at the end of each quarter, Richard couldn’t let the case go. “It’s the kind of stuff that kept me awake at night,” he relays. “There still wasn’t evidence, at least to my satisfaction, that demonstrated who killed her, let alone why they killed her—let alone why the university would go to such lengths to cover up that she had been murdered at all.” After a couple of rounds, the class had run its course—but Richard trudged onwards.

In his dogged pursuit of answers, he returned to the archives time and time again. “Like most of actual life, it’s really boring,” he quips. “You have to sit down with a large collection of papers—99% of which have absolutely nothing to do with what you’re interested in—and you have to leaf through them. You have to be willing to follow up a whole series of leads, which mostly end up in dead ends.” But the professor made progress as he combed through old legal documents, faded newspapers and Mrs. Stanford’s letters (including some tense correspondence with the founding Stanford president, David Starr Jordan).

Richard’s experience as a professor—with intimate knowledge of the inner workings of university life and campus politics—guided him to a big breakthrough in the investigation. “If you’ve worked in universities for your whole life like I have, you know in each university, there are people in the administration who know where the bodies are buried,” he reveals. At Stanford University in the early 1900s, that man was George Crothers, a bureaucrat and lawyer on the university’s board of trustees. Though George had his suspicions about Jane’s demise, he chose not to show his hand during his lifetime. He did, however, write memoranda calling attention to the manipulative and narcissistic track record of one of the case’s prime suspects. “I knew that nobody had looked at them before because they were in perfect order,” Richard said of Crothers’ papers. “It was like breaking open a new deck of cards.”

Slowly, the bigger picture began to materialize. “I just kept following the strings,” Richard observes, “and over a period of about five or six years, I began to see the outlines of what had happened—and then it was simply making sense of it.”

In hindsight, Richard reflects, “The most interesting evidence I unearthed doesn’t necessarily go straight to the murder.” Instead, it helped him better understand the society that produced the killer—and why college administrators played along with the natural death theory. “A murder trial could reveal the controversies within the university, resurrect old scandals and reveal new ones,” he points out in his book.

Richard concedes that his focus on in-depth societal analysis probably wouldn’t fly with private investigators. “Give historians a crime, and historians want to use that crime to open a door to a wider world,” he notes. “Detectives just want to solve the crime. They would kick us off the case.”
Richard isn’t surprised that modern-day Stanford hasn’t weighed in on his tale of Cardinal crime, corruption and cover-up. He’s quick to add, “I had to be careful as a historian and not just collapse the present and the past. You don’t want to impose the university onto the university in the late 19th, early 20th century. I had to throw myself back into a university that occupied the same plot of ground as modern Stanford University—but which was a very, very different place.”

A note to readers: If you crave the adrenaline of shootouts and chase scenes down dark alleys, Richard might not be your author. “It’d be a lot easier to burst into a room with a pistol and solve the crime,” he jokes. “But, you know, I’ve never known a historian who has a chase scene.”

That said, he did turn to his crime-writing brother, Stephen White of the Alan Gregory mystery series, for help “plotting” the book. “When we [as historians] know something, we just reveal it,” he acknowledges. “In the introduction, we just tell you everything you need to know. My brother would say, ‘That’s not going to work here. You’ve got to wait.’”

Withholding info for the dramatic Big Reveal at the end is key. (Which is why we’d be remiss to unveil the killer’s identity here.)

As he digs up buried truths, Richard hopes his book fosters a deeper awareness of the Peninsula. “It’s a place with a really interesting past,” he reflects. “And even though that past can sometimes be a little sordid, it’s worth looking into… And it’s there whenever you scratch the surface.”

Words by Sloane Citron

For much of my life, I’ve wondered where my looks—the good, the bad, the ugly—came from. I didn’t look a thing like my mother or my father and except for my blue eyes—a common Citron trait—there was little I shared with my ancestors. I only knew one of my four grandparents, my mother’s loving elderly mother. But in her visage, or in the old black and white pictures of the grandparents I never met, I saw nothing of myself. I often thought, like many children do, that I must have been adopted.

I’m now a grandfather, though a young one, of seven grandchildren, the oldest soon to be four years old. Even as I have become the family patriarch, there is nothing looks-wise that ties me to my parents. Like my father, I do have good hair, still there and still mostly dark. When my dad died at 86, he had thick black locks. But the hair (and the eyes) were about it. Where did I come from? Who did I resemble?

I have a bright cousin named Peter Vardon, who lives near Washington, D.C. He retired a few years ago, and, like many others with time on their hands, he embraced a new pastime: delving into family history. His mother, Evelyn, was the sister of my father. Much of his research centered upon our grandfather, Julius Citron. Every family has a standout; he was ours.

It turns out that a researcher Peter had contacted for information was coincidentally writing a book about Julius. The two of them were able to share a great deal of information, and we were able to learn many new aspects about our grandfather’s life.

“In the emerging field of serology, Citron developed the world’s first blood tests that would shape the field of serology for decades. He developed the first blood test to diagnose syphilis that would remain in use for over sixty years, popularly known as the ‘Wassermann Test,’ and the first blood test to diagnose tuberculosis.”

My father, Julius’ son, was an extremely quiet man, the result, I believe, of his introverted personality and his hard youth, including escaping from Nazi Germany in the 1930s, right after his young mother died. My father shared little. We had books in our library that Julius had written but not much was said about them or him. While I was always aware that my grandfather had done something “important,” it wasn’t until cousin Peter got to work that I gleaned the actual details.

I did get a hint of his significance a few years ago, when I was hunted down and contacted by the Einstein Papers Project at CalTech. They asked if I was related to Julius Citron. I wrote back that I was his grandson and they responded with several questions, to which I knew almost nothing. They in turn sent me correspondence between my grandfather and the legendary physicist. When I questioned Peter about this, he told me that his mother would recall Dr. Einstein bouncing her on his lap when he came to see Julius back in Berlin.

“Devoted to the German Jewish community and a lifelong Zionist, Citron, along with friend Albert Einstein, led a committee of prominent Berlin Jews including Rabbi Leo Baeck, Judah Magnus and other leading citizens in support of the creation of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem.”

I wish I had known Julius, and my other grandfather too. I missed out on having a living grandfather, something I see as an enduring loss. I hope that my little grandchildren—though they would not remember me if I were to pass today—would still have the imprint of the deep love that I have for them and for the time that we have shared.

“An American colleague wrote in 1910 about Citron that ‘He is a genial, earnest worker and a delightful gentleman, thoroughly interested in his work, an excellent teacher and in all probability one of the best laboratory men on the [European] Continent,’ a testament to Citron’s international reputation from a young age.”

When cousin Peter sent me over some parts of the manuscript, one thing startled me: a picture of my grandfather as the young man described in the previous paragraph—a picture that I’d never seen. It startled me because, well, it was me! Or mostly. I had only seen pictures of Julius as an old man, but this picture, when he was around 35, was like looking at myself at that age.

So now I know that I wasn’t adopted! Though I was not endowed with his intellect and talent, I do have Julius’ looks. My sons Joshua and Jacob are named after him, and Jacob (Coby), somewhat amazingly, lives right near Julius’ original Tel Aviv home, fulfilling his great-grandfather’s dream. Right now, I don’t see myself in any of my grandchildren, but maybe someday—when they are grown up—one of them will look at my picture as a young man and say, “Hey, it’s me!”

For those who followed this year’s Platinum Jubilee in Great Britain, you should know there’s another royal lady to be found on the Peninsula. Although I’m a French bulldog, you can see that I’m holding court in San Mateo’s Central Park. The shaggy dog statue isn’t my only subject—I also play top dog to a warm-hearted pit bull and two more Frenchies. I have Bara to thank for recognizing my regal bearing and bringing me home to San Mateo, where I also enjoy spending time with Bara’s doting father, Ellis, for whom I was named, and Bara’s close friend and dog sitter, Jim. The second part of my name comes from Bara’s own, which means “rose” in Japanese—like that of the late princess Margaret Rose, sister of Queen Elizabeth. My royal status was established early by my affectionate but strong-minded personality. Some say I’m bossy—but I face an issue most other Frenchies don’t. I’m completely deaf. My color ‘pied’ is a lovely white with black spots and splashes, but missing the normal pigmentation can lead to hearing disorders. I make up for the loss by being extremely intelligent and a quick learner. My breeder recognized at once that Bara would be the perfect family for me since she’s a patient and experienced dog trainer and passionate Frenchie owner. Bara started me at once with hand signals and by 11 months, I was fully trained, gaining my AKC Canine Good Citizenship. After all, a queen needs to model proper manners. I not only know my commands but learned tricks as well—I roll over and melt hearts with my “looking sad” trick, which is all in jest since I’m a very contented pup.

Words by Jordan Greene and Sheri Baer

On the morning of November 8, 1957, 36 passengers and 8 crew members boarded a long-range Boeing 377 Stratocruiser aircraft at San Francisco International Airport. With bags and suitcases packed for the journey, they hugged their loved ones goodbye and took off for Hawaii in what was supposed to be the first leg of a round-the-world flight.
But the plane never arrived.

To this day, Pan American Flight 7—called Clipper
Romance of the Skies—remains one of aviation’s greatest mysteries, and it originated right here on the Peninsula.

Not many personally remember the details of the crash, but there are a few who remain determined to find answers. Ken Fortenberry and Gregg Herken—two men motivated by personal connections to the plane’s disappearance—crossed paths online via a messenger board about 20 years ago. After independently researching the tragedy for decades, they’ve worked together for years since, chasing down potential leads and exhausting every possible library resource and archive.

Was it a mechanical failure? Sabotage? An explosion? Or an act of intentional mass murder-suicide that killed the 44 people on the plane, including 12 from the Bay Area? Having drawn their own conclusions, Ken and Gregg now share a resolve to create a memorial to honor the lives lost.
“To me, for these people, their last good day on Earth was in the San Francisco Bay Area and many of them lived here—this was their home,” explains Ken. “They got on a flight on vacation or business and halfway through the flight, they’re gone. I think that people’s lives are worth more than just a headline in passing.”

At 11:51AM, Pan Am Flight 7 lifted off from SFO. The weather was perfect—clear skies and calm seas. As the 36 passengers settled into their seats, the pilots announced a smooth and easy 10-hour flight to Honolulu. Flight attendants started roaming the cabin to serve champagne, caviar and a seven-course dinner. With tickets for the flight running around $300 at the time, the trip was costly, but a luxurious experience.
At 5:04PM, the pilots radioed to ground control with a routine position report, which they did every hour. But at 6:04PM, there was silence. No check-in. But also no distress call. More time passed, and still not a word. At 6:35PM, Air Traffic Control issued an urgent alert: Pan Am Flight 7 had vanished.

The next day, an intensive air-sea search began. Submarines, aircrafts and all ships near the last reported position of the plane scoured the area. It wasn’t until November 14 that a search plane spotted probable wreckage on radar, which led to the discovery of 19 bodies and debris floating in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, 955 miles northeast of Honolulu. Wristwatches that broke on impact helped pinpoint the moment the plane plummeted into the water, 5:25PM, 21 minutes after the plane’s last routine position report and about 90 miles off course.

Pan Am stewardresses Marie McGrath and Yvonne Alexander

As grieving families waited for answers, the Civil Aeronautics Board launched its investigation into what had happened to Pan Am Flight 7. It took until January 1959 to deliver a disappointing, inconclusive report: It could establish “no probable cause” for the crash.

Ken Fortenberry was living in a brand-new house next to plum orchards and a dairy farm in Santa Clara when he learned that his father, Pan Am 7’s second officer, was missing. Before relocating to Santa Clara, Ken’s family had moved from New York to San Mateo, where William (Bill) Fortenberry played an instrumental role in establishing Shoreview Methodist Church. “My dad loved California, absolutely loved it,” recalls Ken. “It was just a real special place to him.”

Six years old at the time, Ken woke up on a Saturday morning to find his house full of strangers. “I don’t recall specifically the moment my mother told us the plane was missing, but I do recall just being a kid and crying my eyes out,” he says. Ken remembers his mother saying, “Your dad’s a great swimmer, Son. They’re gonna find them somewhere.” His father’s body was never recovered.

Although 65 years have passed, Ken remains grateful that happy recollections also linger, including camping trips with his father to Yosemite and Clear Lake. ”He’d always talk about how proud he was of us three boys,” Ken says. “My dad was gone for lengthy periods of time flying, but when he was home, he was also home for weeks at a time. And those weeks were memory-makers for us.” After the crash, Ken’s family moved back to South Carolina to be closer to his mother’s family. As he grew up, he turned to old letters his dad had written from overseas. “He was a prodigious writer,” Ken notes. “And those letters became my dad talking to me.”

In 1957, Gregg Herken had recently moved to San Mateo from Denver and was having a hard time fitting in at his new school. “I had a buckskin coat and I thought it was the coolest thing, but it made me stand out,” he recounts. Marie McGrath, Gregg’s substitute teacher at Sunnybrae Elementary, quietly suggested to his parents that he “ditch the coat.” Not much later, Gregg showed up to school in a new San Francisco Giants jacket. “I wore that to school and suddenly, I was popular,” he reminisces. “I owe Marie McGrath for that.”

A Pan Am stewardess, Marie doubled as a substitute teacher, a common second career during aviation downtime. Gregg, who graduated from Aragon High School in 1965, recalls Marie sharing stories of her adventures and bringing food from the Clipper for a class luau. “She told us about Hawaii,” he recollects, “and for a fourth-grader who had just moved from Denver, this was very exotic stuff.” Marie also substituted at Abbott Middle School, where Gregg’s mom worked as a secretary.

Gregg was sitting in class when the principal announced over the PA system that Miss McGrath’s plane was missing. “At the time, I just imagined it flying into a cloud and not coming out again,” he remembers. “I’ve always felt grateful to Marie for what she did, for helping me adjust to my new life as a kid in California.”

In addition to William Fortenberry and Marie McGrath, who lived in Burlingame, the majority of Pan Am 7’s crew was based in the San Francisco Bay Area. “Pan American had a huge presence in San Francisco with thousands of employees,” notes Ken.

Through his research, Ken also came to know the backstories of Bay Area passengers. “They were all fascinating people,” he relays, as he summarizes some of the anecdotal details. Ruby Quong of San Francisco resigned her position as a registered nurse two days before the flight to travel to Hong Kong to care for her ailing mother. Edward Ellis, an executive with McCormick spices who lived in Hillsborough, was traveling to Honolulu to address a U.S. Chamber of Commerce convention. San Mateo machinery repairman Fred Choy planned to visit his seriously ill father in Hawaii. Louis Rodriguez, a San Francisco surgical orderly and father of three, was en route to his mother’s funeral. Pan Am pilot Robert Alexander and his wife and three children, who lived in Los Altos, heard Honolulu’s palm trees and lapping waves beckoning. “He was just a pilot on vacation,” Ken grimaces, “but they died. They all lost their lives.”

Extending beyond the Bay Area, Ken connected with a Michigan woman named Norma Clack, whose uncle was traveling with his wife and four children. “They were going back to Tokyo where he was an executive with Dow Chemical Company. They were all lost.” For years, Ken kept a picture of the Clack family on his desk: “Just to remind me, ‘You’re not doing this just for you, Ken, you’re doing this for these other families that have no closure.’”

Ken Fortenberry recalls the exact moment that triggered his maniacal campaign to find answers. When he was 13, he wrote a letter to the Civil Aeronautics Board, asking for updates on the crash investigation. “I got a bureaucratic BS response just kissing me off,” he recounts—essentially nothing had been done on the case in seven years. “I remember walking back to my house from the mailbox, just mad as hell. And at that point, I vowed as a kid that I’m gonna find out what happened to that plane if it takes me the rest of my life.”

Committed to a formidable goal, Ken faced a tough slog in the decades immediately following the crash. “You gotta remember that we didn’t have the Internet back in those days,” he says. Even tracking down an address was challenging, but Ken wrote every letter he could. “And long-distance telephone calls cost a fortune,” he points out. “I’ve been to every library you can imagine; I’ve been to archives everywhere and I kept every note I ever made on this thing from the time I was a kid.” Admittedly influenced by his childhood trauma, Ken ultimately became an editor and award-winning investigative journalist—with one constant thread: “Every spare moment I had growing up and even as an adult, I always researched this plane crash.”

Meanwhile, Gregg Herken launched his own obsessive investigation after starting work as a curator at the National Air and Space Museum in 1988. With the National Transportation Safety Board located across the street, he recognized an opportunity to discover what had happened to Marie’s plane. “I found that it was actually one of the outstanding aviation mysteries,” he says, before explaining that there were three prime suspects in the case: “One was the purser who was suicidal and who had left a copy of his changed will in the glove box of the car that he parked at the airport. The other was a passenger who bought a one-way ticket to Hawaii and three insurance policies on himself and was deeply in debt. The third was a problem with the propellers, which were prone to overspeed and had caused problems before.”

Reporters and Navy officers inspect debris recovered from the crash site

As their individual investigations progressed, thankfully so did technology. “Really, the advent of the Internet brought the story alive and made it much more possible to chase down leads,” underscores Ken. It also made it possible for the two Pan Am 7 sleuths to find each other. About 20 years ago, Ken posted a request for information on a messenger board. “And Gregg responded, ‘Hey, I’m interested in this case too!’” Gregg flew down to North Carolina to meet Ken, and “we struck it off from the very beginning and have been research colleagues ever since.”

Even as a 13-year-old, Ken thinks writing a book was always in the back of his mind. In 2020, he published the culmination of his life’s work: Flight 7 is Missing: The Search for My Father’s Killer. Over the years, he had waffled back and forth on the mystery, often for decades at a time. Initially focused on mechanical issues, he uncovered the story of William Payne, a former Navy frogman who had bought a one-way ticket and an excessive amount of life insurance before the crash. He also dug into the background of another potential suspect, Eugene Crosthwaite, a disgruntled Pan Am purser from Felton. With each new clue, Ken would find his perspective shifting. “One minute, I’d think it was an accident,” he acknowledges. “Next thing, I’d think Payne blew it up and then next thing, Crosthwaite blew it up.” In his quest for answers, Ken futilely reached out to Crosthwaite’s stepdaughter, Tania, who he says, “stiffed me for decades.”

And then he got a Facebook message out of the blue: “I think it’s about time we talk.” Ken flew to Houston to meet Tania the next day. “She pretty much laid it out that her stepdad was suicidal and out of his mind,” recounts Ken, who now blames Eugene Crosthwaite for his father’s death. “The information she gave me helped me paint more of a picture and I had a forensic psychologist weigh in on it. And he pretty much concluded what I did as well.”

However, Gregg, now a retired history professor living in Santa Cruz, reached a different conclusion. “I think it was a catastrophic mechanical failure,” he conjectures. “There was a similar incident a few years before with the same type of plane where the propeller spun out. They almost lost control of the plane but were able to make an emergency landing on an island. I think that something very similar could have happened in this case.”

Image: Courtesy of Ken Fortenberry

Having exhausted every resource available, the two are comfortably reconciled with the “agree to disagree” investigative outcome. “We have our opinions,” observes Ken, noting that no one will know for certain until they get to the bottom of the ocean and find the plane. “Gregg’s just a great friend and for him to be by my side all these years has been very special.”

As the wreckage of Clipper Romance of the Skies degrades on the seafloor, memories of the ill-fated plane also fade over time. With no burial site to visit, Ken and Gregg believe it’s imperative that the precious lives lost aren’t forgotten. “This crash did a lot to change safety regulations and expectations for aviation,” states Ken. “This was home to so many of them, and I just think their lives need to be remembered in some way.”

Ken created the Pan Am Flight 7 Memorial Committee with the goal of establishing a permanent tribute to the 44 victims. With GoFundMe and Facebook pages set up to educate and raise money, all that remained was finding an appropriate setting for the plaque. After tireless and often frustrating outreach efforts, the Memorial Committee finally found a warm reception in Millbrae. In late July, the City Council agreed to the placement of a memorial within the city, likely in Marina Vista Park, just across 101 from SFO. With the 65th anniversary of the crash being commemorated this year, Ken and Gregg eagerly anticipate the unveiling of a formal memorial, which will permanently cement the flight’s Bay Area ties. “I just feel so close to San Francisco, even today,” reflects Ken. “That’s where I left my heart. That’s where I left my dad.”